


Snake and Snake

by CautionRice



Category: Magia Record: Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story, Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Breeding, F/F, Hemipenis/Hemipenes, Lamiae, Mating, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Human Genitalia, Strangers to Lovers, Strangers to Mates, less weird than the tags make it seem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-12-24 14:51:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21101282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CautionRice/pseuds/CautionRice
Summary: Just two lamiae mating.





	Snake and Snake

**Author's Note:**

> This is tagged as Magia Record: Side Story because adult Madoka and adult Homura are technically in their respective transformation MG cut-scenes from that game. Sorry if that bothers some people.
> 
> Homura is a trans girl in this fic. Don't @ me. If I ever make a second chapter, it's mentioned more in-depth. IF. A really big if. I have a vague idea, but it's still up in the air.
> 
> Edit: Since my friend's being a smart-ass, I'm putting the notes what were on the bottom of this fic up here instead:
> 
> "snakes of different species can't mate because of 'lock-and-key mechanism,' and only mammals go in heat"  
Well damn, really ruins the believably of this fic. Really takes you out of it.

Kaname Madoka is laying on her stomach, arms tucked underneath her body, tail wrapped in knots around itself, and she's in heat.

Not a “normal” heat; she’s not in estrus like a mammal, and she’s still in a good amount of control of her herself, even as her pulse throbs in her belly and her breathing hasn’t been level in two days.

Her hair clings to the back of her neck, and throwing it over against her pillow to cool off only serves as a reminder to days when she’s _not_ in heat, and she considers that maybe it’s time to cut her hair for a change, having not cut it since she was fourteen.

Six years. It’s been longer than she thought. Maybe she really _should_ cut her hair again.

But, she thinks this every time she has a heat, and then she’ll forget about wanting to cut her hair or is filled with a sense of pride for having grown it out so long, and won’t want to.

None of that matters, as she hasn’t stopped grinding on the blankets since she woke up, using no less than two fingers when she finds herself wanting a more stretched feeling.

It’s in the fuzzy afterglow, after one of these stretched sessions, that she hears the sound of shifting wood, someone trying to get into her home, and her tail coils up defensively, eyes snapping to the large piece of bark serving as the door to her small home.

Sayaka-chan... doesn't hesitate to enter, loudly announcing her arrival, friendly and familiar, being friends with Madoka since they were children. But, having more than enough time to memorize Madoka's heat patterns, she'll act more quiet and subdued during it, _always knocking beforehand._

Mami-san is ruled out as well, as she always knocks, regardless if Madoka's in heat or not.

Any further deductions—her Mama or family or Hitomi-chan—are ruled out the moment she winces at the small beam of afternoon sunlight leaking into her home, the hole then covered by an indistinguishable face.

No greeting.

The face comes closer, head and neck fitting into the hole, blocking out the sunlight. Long black hair framing a face, an odd, contemplative look in the stranger’s eyes.

They blink at each other. Madoka freezes in shock, at the sight of someone she's never seen before.

A small tongue darts down, and suddenly, Madoka riles herself, the thought of another reptile coming for an easy meal sparking deep anger that threatens to replace her heat, as her tail shifts behind her, palms against her mattress and body pressed low.

She prepares herself as the stranger tries squeezing in through the entrance of Madoka’s home, one of her eyes closed in a grimace as her right shoulder stubbornly refuses to budge.

Attacking her while she’s stuck crosses Madoka’s mind, but the moment where she hesitates is when the stranger’s shoulders pop in, and the rest of her body follows—that long black hair again, a longer black tail, with scaly arms quickly coming down to the ground, holding herself up briefly, then wobbling—and she falls unceremoniously to the ground, where Madoka winces at the loud _thump_ upon impact.

Her eyes trail down the stranger’s tail, noticing her lack of legs.

And she blinks rapidly, again, confused at what she's seeing in front of her.

_Another snake?_

They aren't even the same species, but a large gene pool is a good thing. As long as they're both human enough, she should be able to conceive children, and she feels her stomach clench excitedly at that thought—but her thoughts really shouldn’t be so focused on _mating_, especially when she’s still not sure of this snake’s intentions, but the raised sheath in the divot between her hips, a palm’s-distance lower from where the human stomach meets snake tail, might just be enough to give it away.

The rest of her body doesn’t look too bad, either. The shiny black scales of her tail and arms, compared to the whites of Madoka’s own scales.

Her ribs jut out slightly as she brings herself up by her arms, though, and that worries Madoka, bringing attention to small breasts and pronounced collarbones.

And the stranger pauses, taking a moment to right herself by rolling over, sleepy eyes flickering around the cave, down Madoka's body, before slowly slithering up to her bed, stopping an arm’s length away.

She smells unfamiliar. Not of this forest. Not the familiar mix of oak trees and pine needles and the river, that the other creatures of the forest carry.

Instead, she smells almost floral, like a flower Madoka never smelled before. A sharp scent, like the bite of pine needles, without actually smelling like pine, but it's calming, dampening the worst of her heat.

But this is with her human nose.

She sees her stranger flick out her tongue again first, the briefest sight of a forked, shiny gray. How her pupils contract into thin slits, pretty pale irises, and Madoka flicks out her own tongue—from the bottom of her peripheral, a dark indigo.

Earthy and musky, so foreign and bizarre, leaving warm chills on her arms and down her spine, to the very tip of her tail.

She loves it, particularly how the pheromones relax her core, and her vision feels sharper, zoning in on the curve of her stranger’s tail.

She takes good care of it; Madoka can tell just from the lack of any abnormal scales sticking out, each scale perfectly locking with the next. Even the scales covering her arms are impeccable—and has she recently shed? There’s that “just-shed” glossiness that Madoka can appreciate, having just finished her own post-hibernation shedding before her heat started. It’s only out of luck that Madoka herself was able to finish her shedding early this year, because she didn’t expect—well—_another snake. _There hasn’t been one in the previous six years since she started heat cycles.

So, slowly, she shuffles to the side, giddy when her stranger crawls up onto the bed, nestling herself on her stomach next to Madoka. Her stranger’s tail is much longer than Madoka’s, she realizes, and it's smoother up close. She loves the texture when her own tail slides against it, how they coil and intertwine with each other.

And the subtle way her stranger tries wrapping and hooking the underside of Madoka’s tail.

"What's your name?" she asks, and her voice is softer than Madoka was expecting. Not as thick or deep, but it's not bad. She likes it, because it makes her look less scary.

"Kaname Madoka," she says softly, hesitating, but ultimately letting herself rest on her side.

And her stranger is already on top of her, hands planted on either side of her head on the mattress, slowly leaning in, and Madoka's heartbeat skips excitedly.

"Akemi Homura."

It takes a second for Madoka to process that, her thoughts: _Oh, that’s such a cool name,_ as she lets Homura settle on top.

She's not fully out yet, slowly rubbing her sheath in the crest between her hips, and through their quiet sighs, Madoka looks down to catch sight of two frilly heads peeking out, both hemipenes next to each other, light pink and shiny with slick, with her own puffy lips already open and willing, drenched from her session before—all this.

It’s—more embarrassing than Madoka wants to admit, even in the face of her heat, with a potential mate, and that embarrassment carries over to when Homura leans in and brushes her lips on Madoka’s, forcing her to look up at her again.

Homura’s eyes half-lidded, but Madoka closes her eyes instead.

It’s a mistake.

Her lips are soft, easily fitting with Madoka’s. The feeling of a shy tongue brushes her bottom lip, and she lets herself relax into the emotions. It’s strange, as the only tongue she’s felt to compare Homura’s to is her best friend’s, but it’s not unpleasant with Homura. Wet—but not enough to make her drown on it—and silky and warm.

And, the scariest part of the kiss—her breath—is nothing like the clammy kiss she shared with Sayaka-chan before, instead _hot and __heated and pleasantly suffocating_.

The feeling of Homura’s heart against her chest, how it thumps so quickly with Madoka’s own heartbeat.

Madoka finds her own enjoyment in pawing Homura’s shoulder blades and back, how the under-scales of Homura's palms brush Madoka’s chest. Homura doesn’t have to do much, other than heft Madoka’s breasts in her palms, pushing them up, groping them, and Madoka gets that embarrassed, submissive feeling in her chest, arching her back to present herself fully for her, accidentally letting out a moan into Homura’s mouth.

The fork in their tongues lock briefly, and Madoka hears Homura’s pleased hum, pressing herself closer, and she knows—almost instinctively—that Homura is about to mount her.

And that's that.

No competition. No frivolous courtship dances or displays of dominance, no matter how much her human side yearns for it.

“Kaname-san,” she rasps when she pulls away, but Madoka opens her eyes and pouts.

“Homura-chan,” she challenges, and she enjoys the way Homura freezes, caught off guard, the twitch between her eyebrows.

“M-” she stutters, but Madoka silently commends how she keeps eye contact- “Madoka.”

Any feeling of victory Madoka might have felt from that is overshadowed, as her breath hitches at the first brush of warm flesh on her clit, then the hesitant, intrusive poke into her slit. A wave of relief hits her; the small nubs on the head are soft and yielding, not spikes nor barbs.

Homura nudges her nose into Madoka’s cheek, a soft growl next to her ear, open-mouthed kisses on her neck, and it makes Madoka cup Homura’s jaw to kiss her instead, just to stop Homura from doing _that_ again, making her tail weak and body shudder warmly.

And that annoying thing happens again, where her heartbeat quickens, and she's left to wonder if her mate feels the same way, too, when they lock eyes, dangerously staring at each other, unblinking, until Homura gives a slow push in.

They hiss quietly, teeth grit, tails wringing around each other. The knob of Homura's head stretches her, locking them in place, and how Homura almost pulls herself out, slowly pressing back inside again, working on a careful rhythm.

It's not fair!

All it takes is a few shifts of her hips and those nubs rub up against _everything_. There’s nothing Madoka can do, other than shift and squirm and whimper, only serving to accommodate the swelling thickness, arching her back when she feels how it settles almost uncomfortably inside her.

_Almost_ uncomfortably, because so soon, she bends to every uncertain lurch of Homura’s hips, their entwining tails heating the mattress, the scales of her arms glistening next to Madoka’s head.

She’s easing in faster now, the base of her cock hitting Madoka’s clit, and she lets her head relax on the mattress, ignoring the way her breasts bounce slightly with each pull and push of Homura's dick, the wet, slimy noise with each thrust in, the overwhelming amount of warm shudders down Madoka's spine, soft sounds from her mouth she can't control—and how Homura keeps hitting a spot inside her belly that makes her stomach flutter and tongue loose and eyes fuzzy.

And Madoka watches her, how Homura's bites her bottom lip, eyes closed, flushed cheeks, the cute little strain in the space between her eyebrows, and Madoka wonders about the face she's making herself. 

Homura lets out a quiet groan that sounds so adorable to Madoka’s ears, arms lowered, chin on Madoka’s shoulder, rapid breaths with every jerk of her hips.

The building ache inside her compels Madoka to wrap her tail tighter around Homura’s, one of her hands locking around Homura’s head and the other arm wrapping around her shoulders as she starts thrusting in faster, until finally—just like that, Madoka whimpers, eyebrows tight, and holds her as tight as she can, quietly crying out as her tail twitches and walls spasm.

And when Homura slows down soon after, a rough smack inside, something warm and unfamiliar fills her up, and it almost feels as if it spreads to her chest.

That’s it. That should be it.

She's done, right?

Madoka thinks so, at least, a small part of her disappointed when Homura finally shifts her hips and tail, pushing herself up with her arms again, dazed look in her eyes, leaning in to give Madoka a loopy kiss on her forehead, a brief one on her lips that Madoka chirps into.

She gently has to tug out her dick, the head leaking out stray strings of cum on Madoka’s clit—and then she’s lining up her second cock, hand loosely gripped under the bulbous head, thumb pushing it inside effortlessly—and Madoka arches her neck back and croons.

And she doesn't have time to be embarrassed because Homura’s arms and hands snap to bound Madoka’s wrists, and she's only left to gasp.

She realizes just how big Homura is.

Big tail, big torso, _big dick_, big tongue, big teeth, and Madoka can only writhe and whine when she starts up thrusting again, those small frills rubbing up all over on her g-spot, Homura’s tongue and teeth sliding over Madoka's bottom lip, her tail locking Madoka against the bed.

And she takes it. She _wants_ to take it, let Homura fill her up, even if she doesn't fully understand, because to waste more energy on her, it means she deems Madoka—_and only __Madoka_—as a viable mate. To make Madoka _hers._

So, _yes_—Homura holding her down and brutally fucking her into the mattress, and Homura kissing the underside of her chin before her teeth latch onto Madoka’s neck, the scent of her sweat and tangy pheromones—and Madoka makes noises that she's never heard herself make—soft, muffled mewls and coos, and a high-pitched cry when Homura thrusts faster again—and she's so sensitive it hurts, the steady, coiling ache, the nubs probing _everything _roughly again, as she realizes the sound of her own rough panting.

And she still finishes first, letting out a sob as her walls squeeze around Homura’s cock, slowing her down to a rough drag, before she gives one final shove inside.

* * *

The massage she receives after help relieve the stiffness in her tail, with how tight and twisted it wound around Homura’s.

Good, because Madoka can feel herself getting broody, both hands tucked underneath herself, rubbing her cheek on the smooth scales of Homura's tail, contemplating the cum in her belly.

Even _she_ doesn't understand this process very well, but right now, internally, she's carefully sifting through both loads of semen. Oddly, she's finding more potential in the second load of sperm, saving away all the _really_ good genes into a small pocket for safe-keeping, where she can hold them away for up to four years.

Just in case, of course.

Like if Homura decides to leave, or if something unfortunate happens to her.

She won’t ever wish ill will upon her, but she also can’t predict the future, bringing herself out her melancholy to figure out how many children she wants instead.

A soft moan leaves her when Homura presses her thumbs on the very tip of her tail, where a stubborn knot had settled, and Madoka flips her head over to the other cheek to stare at the process, blowing the hair out of her face.

Well. If she plans on sticking around, Madoka might as well ask.

"How many kids do we want?"

"How many can we have?” She doesn’t turn to look down at her, now working on the underside of Madoka’s tail. It feels nice. She can get used to this.

"Four or less," she mumbles sleepily, and her eyelids struggle to stay open.

"Four, then."

Madoka gives a dry laugh. "How about two instead?"

_That_ gets her to look at Madoka, pausing in her massage—because Madoka _will_ make her continue it later—to slip her tail out from Madoka’s cheek, laying down next to her, kissing the top of her head.

"Three?" She asks this quietly. Madoka allows herself to indulge in their shared warmth, Homura’s arms squeezing satisfyingly around her torso.

This girl must be really cocky, counting on Madoka to not only take both deposits of her sperm, but to carry _four_ offspring as well.

Madoka plans on making her work for that.

"I'll need lots of food," she says, staring directly at her.

Though her face stays blank, Homura’s tail squirms beside Madoka’s, her stutter giving her away.

"But—what if someone else comes?"

And Madoka holds back a smirk. She really has no interest in anyone else now, and there aren't any other snakes around, none that aren’t her own family obviously.

She kisses Homura's cheek with a small flick of her tongue, giving her the most innocent smile she can muster.

"You'd better hurry, then."


End file.
